"I don't see it as a disability, but more like a syndrome. A strange one that doesn't let me enjoy in peace but, apparently, has an exception."
.
.
.
He never gave himself the time to think of how much this affects his life. According to him, the fact that things transformed themselves to be monotone and boring from one moment to the other wasn't something that required his attention anyways.
He was used to any activity that appeared to be fascinating to him for a few seconds, would then turn into the stupidest thing ever that he wouldn't bother in ever trying.
It was always like this— with everything. He never had a stable relationship because he would get bored and hopelessly lose interest in a matter of minutes. It was the same with friends.
It's just that the sole idea of hanging out with the same person once more to talk about things he had to pretend to be interested in made him sick. This is why he preferred to 'have fun' in bars, clubs, brothels, whatever attracted him even for a microsecond in search of experimenting pleasure for once in his life.
Ah, the pleasure of life that seemed he would never experience...
Until now.
He knew it the instant in which his blue eyes met with the dark ones of the stunning chick who brought attention to herself from those that surrounded her.
At first, he pretended to not care because either way, it was just a matter of seconds before this was as such, but this time, it didn't happen. Minutes passed and that woman who sat on the fluffy pillows behind her— with an ivory-pale hand, tucked a strand of black hair behind an ear as her purple-tinted lips moved to form a smile inhibited from some guy's pick-up line that he couldn't avoid saying almost as if it were an exclamation of surprise to see her— continued being fascinating to his eyes.
Their gazes seemed to last an entire minute. She had turned to look at nothing in particular with her attractive eyes and had met with his.
Menma doubted for a few moments in his interior. He thought that if he continued looking at her, that the effect she had on him at that moment would pass, but nothing, it was still there. A burning spark in his interior that seemed to burn and a strangely sweet aroma that he had never felt in the air got him drunk in all of what that visual contact lasted.
"Sir."
The bartender broke the contact. Menma turned his face towards the young man that asked him what he wanted to drink as he cleaned a glass.
"Who is she?" He asked without being able to avoid it, pointing with a gesture of his head in direction towards the girl while with his finger, he casually indicated the liquor he wanted in the occasion. "Does she work here? How much does she charge?" He wanted to know immediately, turning around to look in direction towards the girl who was now concentrated in a conversation with some guy who insisted on talking to her. She only looked at the man in a way that seemed to say: 'You're totally hooked on me, I know it.'
"Oh, they don't really work here," The bartender responded as he served him. Menma made an unpleasant face upon hearing that. "However, [he's] very well known in this place. Tends to come here frequently."
"[He?]*"
"Yes, [he. He's actually a guy]."
The liquor seemed to dangerously clog in his throat upon hearing that, making him choke and begin coughing exaggeratedly. The young bartender, worried, asked him if he were alright and patted his back trying to comfort him.
Menma's reaction was not appreciated at all.
"You, damn it, you must be joking." He barked, coughing a bit more towards the guy and then back to the girl. She was a guy? Where? Upon simple glance, there was nothing masculine about that person. He couldn't believe it.
"With what, Sir?" The bartender wasn't sure as to what his client referred to until he saw him completely concentrating on observing the one he had asked about before. "Ah, yes. The majority tend to react like that when they find out."
"Shit."
He still couldn't believe the damn bartender, sending him away, demanding he let him drink in peace.
He continued looking at the girl (he wanted to believe she was a girl) for a long time; with a disguise entertained between anger and confusion, he analyzed her carefully. While she had short hair, many women were using a similar style this season. Those thin legs made him hesitate for a second, but they were fine without a doubt. If it weren't for that damned black, plush coat she wore over her shoulders that gave her an appearance of a 'rich woman', he would've concentrated on her bust.
Damn it.
He spent a few long hours like that, between drinking, sitting down, going to the dance floor with some girl and then carefreely returning to the bar. The first drink he drank immediately bored him, so he had gone through everything that the bartender could offer and even so he felt sober. Even being drunk was a pleasure he would never manage to experience.
But now, there was something else more important, not the fact that the repetitive music bothered him or that no other girl around him caught his attention.
He was going to leave just when he noticed that she got up from the couch she hadn't abandoned. Apparently, she had gotten bored of being surrounded by so much attention and was preparing to leave.
Suddenly, the thought of talking to her surged in his head and he could swear that a strange sensation surged in him for the first time. After all, he couldn't let her leave without satiating his curiosity.
Never before had anything seemed so fascinating like the idea of stopping her and touching her.
He waited for his opportunity without moving from the chair as she was walking to his direction since there were less people there dancing and it'd be much easier to move throughout the crowd. Menma observed her movements with attention, still asking himself how the hell that girl was a guy.
Then it was there, in the minute that she passed by his side without looking at him, where the air seemed to change and the smell of the ambient drowned in the fragrance she brought. He didn't hesitate to grab her by the arm to turn her towards him as he got up from his chair to confront her.
"They've told me you're a guy," He let out and she only looked at him. He admired how her black eyes widened a bit by the surprise but then returned to their tranquility from before, confusing him.
"I am..." 'She' then responded. The masculine voice reached his ears very clearly but even still, he did not let go. Perhaps he didn't react immediately because of the surprise. "Can you let me go?"
Instead of doing so, Menma gripped her shoulder tighter.
Was this for real? A guy? Impossible. He stopped for a few moments to admire the other who made a superficial movement in gesture for him to let go.
She really didn't look like one, at least, not dressed and with that kind of makeup. He frowned uncomfortably. To think that the first time he could experience a real pleasure, an attraction that would last for more than a few seconds, would end up being this way. Hooked on a guy who dresses as a woman.
"Or do you want to dance with me, stranger?" The dark-eyed one then asked. Menma hadn't realized that maybe he had been observing him for a long time as if he wanted to kill him, or perhaps, devour him. He hoped it wouldn't be the second option. He let go.
"Tsk. You're fucking with me. Why would I dance with a transvestite?" He responded angrily, as if the other had done something horrible to him.
He waited for the indignant guy to insult him and then slap him to then leave, but against all odds, the other pushed his face closer to him to see him up close, letting Menma inhale the attractive, rich aroma that was his perfume.
"I don't know," He whispered with a suggestive tone in his voice. "Why not dance with me?" He returned the question with a sly smile that couldn't be any more attractive like all of his beautiful face.
How to respond to that? Menma found himself seriously doubting what he should do, but the pleasant smell and that flirty look were so hard to ignore that he didn't realize when he grabbed him by the arm to take him to the dance floor and give the other what he wanted. Perhaps if he did, the 'magic' that this guy seemed to have in him would fade just like all the things he could have ever noticed.
He really hoped it would happen. Usually, when he danced with the other girls, he would leave them halfway. Their bodies could be grazing against each other and something more while they danced, but nothing was ever capable of inciting him enough to not get bored of it.
Even during sex, it was the same. He knew exactly how to satisfy a woman, but no one could ever return the favor the same way. The pleasure was only for a few minutes that would fade into nothing as soon as he saw that in reality, it wasn't the best thing.
But, damn it! This guy was doing nothing more than move closer to him, seeing him interested only to, later on, laugh out of nowhere over and over again as if he wanted to tell him something he couldn't dare say. He made him nervous and angry at the same time, leaving him at a crossroad. He wanted to push him away, but at the same time, he wanted the other to get closer to feel that aphrodisiac aroma he seemed to be wearing—the one that Menma blamed for the feelings he was experimenting.
The other laughed softly and shook his head after a few minutes of dancing. "This is weird..."
"A guy dressed as a woman says that?" Menma noted, smiling sarcastically. He wasn't the type to dance, so he took his time to adapt to the rhythm of the music and follow his partner's movements as the two had gotten closer due to the number of people on the dance floor.
"Yes, I know. But I've never danced with a guy before."
Menma arched an interested eyebrow and couldn't help but say: "But aren't you a fag?"
His partner blinked, stopping all movement to laugh a bit and then proceed with what he was doing. He turned around, his body against Menma's and making him curse under his breath.
"Aren't you?"
The question seemed so stupid to him. He would've liked to hit him in the face with his sexual history to make a point that he was no fag, that he was only close to him because he looked like a girl.
"Are you going to respond to everything I ask you with the same question, stupid?" He bellowed angrily, grabbing him by the hips from the inertia of someone pushing him as they passed by. They were so close now thanks to the many people that were joining the dance floor.
"Careful. No, I'm not." The one with the purple lipstick finally responded without backing away from the contact.
"Huh, and so why do you dress like that, eh?" He bothered him, obviously not believing him. "Who dresses like a girl and says they're not gay? Surely no one sane."
He didn't expect for the boy to turn around and pass his arms around his neck. Far from being bothered by the contact, Menma liked it. Or perhaps his interior seemed to like it because he still felt strange.
"An infatuation."
"What?" Menma questioned, feeling stupid.
"I dress like this because it's an infatuation of mine."
How much time had passed since he started conversation with this weird guy? He didn't know, but he was sure that he couldn't stop feeling weird things ever since. It was impossible that he didn't keep his attention from how odd he seemed to be.
Or even more strange, was that Menma saw him as someone difficult to read.
Something new, without a doubt. He had never met a person that would keep him interested for so long and especially make him feel as if he wanted to throw him against something to make rough love to knowing that this time, he could find ecstasy in the life he so long searched for.
"You're crazy."
"Perhaps."
"Shit..."
The boy didn't stop grinding against him, and the aroma he radiated had Menma completely enveloped. He had long grown tired of the music, but that black-haired boy appeared to be so animated that he simply couldn't act as indifferent as always.
The boy smiled at him and Menma stupidly insulted in return. He was too erotic that it embarrassed him to think that he was beginning to get excited over some weird transvestite.
He gripped him tighter with more force towards him, pulling him towards his body without tact and looking at him so fixedly that it would make anyone else uncomfortable but his partner didn't seem to care. Menma felt the other's soft hands caress the hairs on the back of his head.
"You're not hetero."
"Sweetheart, I'm just following your game."
Doomed. The more he looked at him, the more confused he got.
Menma got close to his ear to say: "What game?"
And the other laughed, pretending not to understand. His pale hands descended to place themselves upon his chest.
The blue-eyed one frowned, understanding him. He was really inciting him to do something more that he had never done with any other.
He grunted and the other only laughed innocently. What the fuck did this guy have to confuse him so much? To start, why couldn't he send that fucking weirdo away?
He was going to say something. Something dangerous. Something that was obviously to see if the guy was really waiting on this to become something else, and if so, Menma would have to seriously ask himself if he was willing to give it to him. Fuck some guy dressed as a woman who pretends to be hetero just to satisfy the imperial desire he was feeling? Why not? Surely, later on, he would get bored of him and would toss him aside like always.
But before he could do it, the other separated from him in between an "I'm sorry" that stunned him.
"What the fuck, why...?"
He noted that the boy looked for something in the pocket of his overcoat. His phone.
The one with dark eyes made a gesture for him to shut up with a finger before answering.
"Yes, [love]**?" He responded to the call. Menma noted how the boy acquired a strange shine in his eyes as he heard what the other person on the other end of the line said to him. "No, love, you know you're the only one for me. I'll immediately go over to see you, just wait for me."
He opened his eyes in exasperation. What the fuck was that? What kind of strange game was this guy playing at? Whatever the answer was, something inside him didn't like it.
The boy ended the call and turned around to tell him with the same charm as before: "I'm sorry, my girlfriend is desperate to see me. I have to go."
It was said so naturally, as if nothing had happened, as if it were the most normal thing in the universe that it provoked a strange feeling inside him; something inexplicable.
The boy with the purple lipstick approached him before leaving to say: "I told you I was hetero."
And then he disappeared into the crowd along with his desire to stay there.
The fascination of the place and occasion faded at the same time he faded from his field of vision.
Everything around him returned to being monotone and boring.
He frowned, hating the feeling of emptiness that he was so used to returning quickly.
"Son of a bitch," He cursed angrily and turned around to walk into a group of girls that after a few minutes, proceeded to leave with him to some other place with the clear intention of having fun amongst each other.
But there was no pleasure in it.
-----
Spanish class with Von:
[*] The original word here was 'conocido' which means known. Menma asks this because conocido is used when referring to male, whereas conocida is to females. However, there's no way in English to make 'known' give reference to female or male, so I used 'he' instead. Otherwise, Menma would ask: "Known?" And we wouldn't be able to tell that he caught the bartender referring to Charasuke as male.
[**] Here, Charasuke answers the call with 'querida' which is 'dear' when referring to females. Of course, the english language doesn't have such word to refer to a gender, so I went with 'love'. Just know that he answers to a girl here, as throughout the conversation in spanish, he uses female pronouns when talking to the other person.